


platinum

by galacticjeno (solarcy)



Series: narcissist [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blonde Jeno, College Students NCT Dream, Gen, Jeno is a narcissist, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Huang Ren Jun, Mentioned Na Jaemin, Minor Injuries, Minor Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Minor Violence, Narcissism, Not Canon Compliant, Street Racing, jeno is kinda oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarcy/pseuds/galacticjeno
Summary: the screams get louder after jeno, but a platinum blur, crosses the finish line and his name, large, glowing, sits in the first place.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Series: narcissist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566826
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	platinum

**Author's Note:**

> hi !!! its the second part !!! i apologise for it though, it's not my favourite but i just wanted to get this part out so that we could get onto the more exciting things!!

the neocircuit is the hardest course the racemakers have ever jumbled together. it starts on the edge of the city, in the neon district where there is certainly no shortage of shady little hole-in-the-walls and dingy little upstairs beer halls that smell faintly of alcohol but mostly like piss; in short, jeno hates the neon district. the race starts off on the outskirts of the district, then the racers will speed into the arid desert that surrounds their city. the race is flat most of the way, because a lot of it is out of city lines. jeno supposes that the racemakers really have nothing or nobody to show off to here. the first leg of the neocircuit is always boring, desert, desert and  _ oh _ … more desert. jeno hates this race mostly because nobody sees him when he looks his best. his favourite boy (an upgraded title, of course now that he is certain that crescent moon is  _ his  _ favourite racer) only ever gets to see him race the biggest race in the city when his helmet and suit have had sand flying at them at high speeds for so long it’s basically plastered to him and his precious bike is dusty, it’s unjust in jeno’s humble (or not so much) opinion. 

the neocircuit tires jeno to his bones, and rightfully so, the race lasts upwards 6 hours and most of it is desert. he uses this and his avid hatred of the neon district to avoid partying post-race with his friends. instead of getting drunk jeno collapses onto his bed fully clothed, and every morning-after without fail he wakes with a start and strips his racing suit off his body quicker than you could say ‘ _ go’ _ . and it’s a good thing his instincts wake him up like this -- because his disgustingly hungover friends all enjoy crashing  _ casa de jeno _ when jeno himself is the only one not hungover, funnily enough, this only happens the morning after a neocircuit. the stars are repeatedly thanked that none of his friends are sharp enough to have realised this. but jeno is a nice friend, makes his resident zombies a nice pot of soup to help their stomachs, lends his shoulder if they need to whine about how they’re lying on their deathbed, and if need be, he gives up his bed and his clothes for his friends who’s outfits have suffered a tragedy: namely, the drinks from last night… reappearing. not a pretty sight, even on the prettiest boy jeno has ever seen. 

the first urban stretch of the neocircuit is exciting, jeno feels himself get more and more fired up as the cityscape comes back into view, he moves through his gears smoothly and makes sure that his bike can be heard flying down the track. his favourite boy (and the rest of his friends) is waiting for him, standing outside the seediest tavern in the city.  _ the dusty tyre  _ is the farthest removed tavern in the district, true to its name, the parking lot is but a slightly-more-solid patch of sand in the vast desert where travellers can park their ‘dusty tyres’ and have a drink, although jeno would warn even his worst enemy off of drinking in that place. it’s a miracle the building even has a working water supply. jeno doesn’t think it’s passed a health inspection since he’s been alive either, but, then again, not many buildings in the neon district ever do. 

the city council gave up trying to govern that part of the city long ago. the buildings are thrown up, frankly jeno thinks it’s a modern day miracle that they don’t crumble the second someone steps foot in them. he whizzes by the dusty tyre, hears his favourite boy and the rest of his friends roar his name, and revels in it. a smirk of pure showmanship (concealed by his dark visor, of course. but jeno knows his fans can see it anyway,) and an extra rev of his engine, just to hear the amplified screams. pure instinct takes him through the neon district, and then comes the exciting part. jeno flies down the staircase and into the subway station. 

this is jeno’s favourite part of the race. all he has to enjoy is the sound of his own engine and the reflections of his platinum rims on the dark tunnel walls. he has no performance to put on during this leg of the race, he just gets to bask in the glory that is crescent moon, and his bike. before the new racemakers took over, this race used to take place when the subways were still running; something about too many casualties? jeno doesn’t remember now, but the new ‘safety’ rules sure do make the races even more of a breeze for him than they used to be. if crescent moon had no competition before, then he certainly doesn’t now. depressing, really, jeno misses when he actually had to break a sweat to win a race, but he’s heard the street racing scene two cities over is similar to how it used to be in his own turf, so crescent moon just might have to take a road trip. the luminescent green arrows placed in the tunnels by the racemakers to ensure racers don’t get lost in the winding subway network guide his way, though jeno knows these tunnels almost as well as he knows the streets above them.  _ left,  _ sharp _ right, another left.  _ like clockwork. 

above him, day-jeno’s friends and crescent moon’s self-declared groupies run through the streets of the neon district, laughing and shouting ‘ _ i bet jeno wishes he were here!’  _ little do they know, he’s always there. jenos bike grumbles through station after station until he sees the neon green lighting pointing towards the ramp, the exit back into the outside world. for a fleeting second, the lights blind jeno. but that’s alright, he’s prepared for this. jeno knows that about a metre in front of the exit to the subway station, there is a lamp post. jeno swerves. his sight returns, not fully yet, but jeno knows that about 10 metres past the lamp post the racemakers have placed a jump, one of showmanship, put there purely because the racemakers know that the racer’s sights will only just be returning to full capacity. a jump made to disorient them further -- but not jeno. he’s too good. crescent moon, and his gorgeous platinum-rimmed bike (some of his fans have started churning the rumour mill that the platinum rims are melted down trophies -- for crescent moon is far too good and he must be running out of space to store his winnings, right? wrong. but jeno will never reveal that,) sail over the jump like nothing special and land smoothly. he does not look for his favourite boy, jeno knows he’s there. 

a gaggle of crescent moon fans crowd the first jump after the station exit. they all know that crescent moon is going to be the first racer to emerge and take on the blind jump. and, all of them know that he’s going to make it look magnificently,  _ depressingly _ easy. depressing, because every person lining the streets, waving crescent moon’s signature platinum logo could never do it as well as him, half the participants in the neociruit know this, too. 

‘ _ here he comes! here he comes!’  _ instantly, all heads whip towards the subway station. the delicious rumbling of crescent moon’s bike echoes on the stone walls, slightly muffled, until it’s not. crescent moon enraptures his audience easily, makes a perfect left swerve, even blind, and flies towards the jump. the street is silent, everyone, even those who are not devoted crescent moon fans (they call themselves stars, jeno likes that,) are completely immersed in the performance he puts on. crescent moon lands the jump, and the crowd  _ roars.  _ the racer spares no glances towards his audience, and speeds on by. they follow. 

the roars of the crowd thrum in jenos veins like adrenaline. it fuels him, makes him want to put on a better show. it doesn’t make him want to win, because he knows he’ll do that anyway. his performance is the most important part of the race. if he does not perform, then he gets boring. and crescent moon will  _ not _ become boring. not if jeno can help it, anyway. in his peripheral vision, he sees his group of fans trying to catch up with his bike, but he doesn’t care to slow down for them, that would ruin the show. crescent moon speeds through the city, alley after alley, over polished, menacing fence after polished, menacing fence. after a while his fans lose him, taking the shorter, audience friendly. route to the home stretch of the race. jeno winds the last corner, and then the screams get louder. still, there are no other racers behind him. the green and purple neon  _ NEOCIRCUIT  _ banners flash over his head and reflect off of his sleek black and platinum bike, his pride and joy. 

a few extra revs of his engine and then he’s racing down the city’s main street, the only thing that shows it being the neocircuit is the neon banners; it’s easier to decorate the subway tunnels and the neon district that the city centre, much less risk for the racemakers. jeno wishes they weren’t such cowards, nowadays. he’s been racing since he was 14, illegally of course, and he misses the thrill of danger, and the cuts and scrapes he used to blame on falling off of his skateboard or out of trees. 

the screams get louder after jeno, but a platinum blur, crosses the finish line and his name, large, glowing, sits in the first place. where it should always be. as is his routine, crescent moon waits for the podium ceremony to begin, gets his nth golden  _ neocircuit _ cup, shakes hands with as many of the other racers as he can, and then speeds through the dark city streets, away from the festivities, but not for long. jeno’s friends like to speculate that crescent moon must have a ‘secret lair’ where he stores his trophies and his bike. and they’re right. it’s hidden in the city docks, an old fishing hut drowned by massive storage warehouses and forgotten by time, as the city evolved and grew out of the need to trade with fish and instead could bring in more tourism and export technology. his ‘jeno clothes’ are already there, waiting for him. his bike is parked and covered with a cloth, he’ll come back to take care of her later, but for now, he goes to his friends, and his most favourite boy of all. 


End file.
